


Comparison

by apollaskywalker



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Mary Floyd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-28 01:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15696963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollaskywalker/pseuds/apollaskywalker
Summary: Ben can't help but compare how things went with Sarah to how things are with Mary.





	Comparison

He can’t help but compare.

Technically, he reasoned, it isn’t comparison. They are just moments when he remembers what happened with Sarah and how different they are with Mary.

 

He met Sarah when he was soaked in blood and rainwater, near death. She took him in, tended to his wounds, and confused him.

He met Mary Floyd at a party in Philadelphia. He had taken a break from the dance floor to pour himself some punch. As he lifted the ladle, he heard footsteps and noticed her nearing the refreshment table. She beautiful, he noted immediately. Whereas most of the other women were dressed in blues to echo the Continental uniforms, she wore a yellow dress that he could only describe as “happy”. Her dark curly hair was piled high on her head, lightly powdered. He couldn’t deny having noticed her, so he did the only polite thing and offered her a drink. She accepted with thanks.

“Were you at Yorktown, sir?” she asked after taking a sip of the punch.

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “I served with Col. Hamilton.”

“Oh, the infamous Mr. Hamilton,” she twirled her fan in her left hand but not in a movement that Ben understood. Perhaps it was not meant for him or perhaps she wasn’t even signaling anything. “What did you think of Virginia?”

This took Ben by surprise. Every other lady he had encountered immediately asked about what the battlefield was like, was he wounded, did he partake in this part or that part of the battle. Or they inquired about Col. Hamilton, married though he was. “It was beautiful,” he studied her eyes, looking for a hint. Was she a Virginian? Did she want to hear that her home was safe? “I’d heard of its heat, but it was comfortable compared to what I had heard.” 

“Were you near Orange county?”

“Uhh…no, not that I am aware of, perhaps I passed through it?” 

“I see. I’m sorry,” she smiled politely. “My sister is being courted by a Virginian and I cannot envision her there. She copes poorly with the heat – something I say with the experience of sharing a bed with her for years.”

“Ah, then you are not Virginian?”

“Heavens no,” she laughed. “I beg your pardon, sir, I’m Mary Floyd, my father is William Floyd of Mastic.” 

“William Floyd!” Ben exclaimed. “It’s an honor, Miss Floyd,” Ben reached for her hand and she offered it. Gently he kissed the back of her gloved hand. “We were practically neighbors. I’m Major Benjamin Tallmadge, of Setauket.”

“Tallmadge! You must be the Reverend Tallmadge’s son. You attended Yale, didn’t you?” Ben nodded. “Your father was very proud. How is his health?”

They talked through two glasses of punch each and danced twice.

It was utterly normal and appropriate. There was no blood, no death, only civil society. Her politics were straightforward and matched his (as far as he could tell.) At no point did she ever cause his reason and feelings to be at odds.

 

* * *

 

Sarah hadn’t known Caleb and Caleb knew nothing of Sarah.

Talk had gone ‘round after he’d fought with that bastard Randall, but the scant gossip that suggested anything improper on Ben’s side had been laughed off loudly by Caleb. According to some of the men, when Caleb had been told the rumor that Ben wanted Sarah for himself, Caleb laughed so hard he fell off his seat and cried. The sincerity of Caleb’s reaction went through the same gossip rounds and effectively killed the other.

He’d never talked about Sarah with Caleb. When Caleb brought her up, curious about Ben’s real reason in fighting, Ben sidestepped the topic artfully. Never liked that man, Ben lied. Reminds me of Bradford. And what sort of man accosts a woman? And how dare he sully the army by behaving so?

By the time he finished his rant, Caleb had been convinced. And Ben had noticed how Caleb treated the officer, the borderline insubordination and disrespect. Nothing was ever outright, but Caleb’s tone walked a fine line between acceptable and mocking. He smirked and behind the man’s back, rolled his eyes in front of other soldiers. 

But Ben desiring Sarah as a motive for a fight? Ben behaving improperly with a woman? Caleb didn’t hear a better joke until he learned of the camp followers’ gossip about Ben and Anna.

“You rascal,” Caleb had teased. “Such a man of mystery, the ladies just can’t resist creating some sordid love affair. If they only knew,” he sighed the last. “If they only knew the absolute waste of your –“

No, Caleb and Sarah had nothing to do with the other.

At a ball more open (the first had been for officers only, this was for any man who could get his hand on an invitation), Caleb volunteered to go. If only to help pick out a lady for Ben. Caleb preferred to find his women in more disreputable locales.

 Shortly after arriving, Ben danced with a young lady and Caleb wandered away. While Ben and the woman twirled about the room, he looked for Miss Floyd. He saw her sister, Catherine. He saw her brother, but not her. Disappointed and concerned, he solicited a dance from Catherine. She acquiesced, much to the displeasure of a man dressed in all black, if the dour look on his face was any indicator. It didn’t seem to be, he remained dour looking every time Ben saw him.

Catherine was a fine dancer, but she was not her sister. It took a turn or two before Ben realized an innocuous way to ask her sister’s whereabouts. Such a simple, ordinary question – it sat awkwardly on his tongue and he forced it out the same way he’d recited the subjunctive forms for Latin. “Is your family in good health?”

“Ask again, Major,” she twirled, the candles’ light reflecting off the stones decorating her hair. He would learn later those were a present from the grim-faced man in black, Mr. James Madison. “You see my brother over there, my father is in the corner with Col. Hamilton, I believe your question to be a front.”

 How had he managed a spy ring if this young woman had seen right through him? Embarrassed, Ben asked, “Is your sister in good health?”

Catherine bit her cheek but could not keep her grin in check. “She is not ill, but rather sustained a wound on the woman’s battlefield. She cut her foot last night on a broken glass and is therefore engaged at the card tables.” The steps brought them close enough that she could whisper conspiratorially to him the next: “She refused to stay and rest; she wishes to see you.”

His heart hammered faster than it had since his first battle.

He danced once more before retreating to the card tables. There he found Miss Floyd and saw she was playing cards with Caleb.

As he approached, he recognized the game. Unlike most common games played at parties, this one involved money and was therefore more tempting to Caleb. Why Miss Floyd played, he didn’t know. The players were in the midst of placing their bets and Ben watched Caleb make an outrageous bet. Did Caleb have that much to his name? Since the events with Simcoe, Caleb hadn’t done much with the London Trade. That didn’t mean he didn’t have other side deals or more money than the average soldier, it just seemed exorbitant given his recent activities. Or lack of recent activity. 

“I hardly believe you fell into such lucre, Lt. Brewster,” Miss Floyd tapped her cards thoughtfully. “And it seems cruel to bet against you in the likely event your coffers aren’t as full as you boast.”

“Well perhaps I’d be willing to take alternative forms of payment, Miss.” Caleb winked cheekily and Ben struggled not to grab Caleb by the collar and chastise him.

“Lieutenant!” Ben snapped.

“Oh, Tallboy! Here you go, miss,” Caleb grinned. “Even if I don’t have the money, he can back me up. Go ahead, place your bet!”

Miss Floyd’s eyes flicked to look at Ben. Her brows creased but then smoothed out and she looked away from him.

“This is Major Benjamin Tallmadge,” Caleb told the card players. He then introduced the players to Ben. “Pull up a seat, major, I’m about to get rich.”

Ben saw Caleb’s hand. He tried to make eye contact with Miss Floyd again, to indicate somehow that Caleb had a very, very good hand.

Instead she placed her cards on the table and declined to play that hand. 

They switched games and dealt Ben into this one. Caleb peppered anecdotes of his time whaling, his time on the London Trade, and exploits in battle. He would often turn to Ben and ask him to confirm them, which made Ben uncomfortable. Some of Caleb’s stories were true – or partially true and some he just didn’t know, so he danced a fine line of supportive-friend and fact-checker.

After three hands, Mary excused herself for a drink and Ben offered to help her, mentioning her sister’s telling about her foot. 

Somehow, he couldn’t recall a direct chain of events, but somehow they ended up sneaking out to the barn. There she sat on a pile of hay (the horse gave her a forlorn look, hungry but well mannered) and she removed her shoe and stocking. He looked away, to give her privacy, but peeked and saw the flash of her calf. Like a princess awaiting her maid’s assistance, she held out her foot. Only instead of slipping on a stocking or shoe, he gently took hold. He had to unwind the bandage and did so.

She giggled as his thumb brushed her bare foot. “Do they train all dragoons not to be ticklish?” she teased, reminding him to be careful. She could easily kick his face.

Bandage gone, bare foot, he could see the gash but it was weirdly difficult to notice in light that her ankle and foot were in his hands. Outside of Anna and Sarah, he’d never touched another woman’s leg.

It was oddly distracting. And very silly, most people went barefoot in the country. It wasn’t the sight so much as the touch. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was judging him, if she noticed his shaky hands. Were his hands too rough?

“I tripped over one of the dogs,” she laughed at herself. “It’ll teach me to walk barefoot in the big city.”

“I’ve seen worse,” he began to wrap the bandage again. “Cheer up, soldier, you’ll be killing lobsters soon enough.” 

“I thought we were pursuing a peace treaty,” she pulled on her stocking and again he looked away (but peeked). “Or is my pen that dangerous?”

“Your father’s, perhaps,” Ben allowed.

She laughed so hard at that and her mirth was contagious. “My father,” she said when she regained some control, “has one of the tamest pens in all of Congress.”

 

* * *

 

 

Though he’d pulled her back, Sarah had initiated their first kiss. She had leaned down to him, he’d merely risen to meet her.

With Mary, he initiated them.

Before departing for New York, he’d kissed her cheek.

He’d wanted to take her for a walk but her foot was still healing. Instead they sat outside the boardinghouse drinking cider. He told her what task Washington had for him – that is, assisting in the peaceful transition of the city’s authority. He made no mention of dealing with the intelligence aspect. 

The prospect of a Patriot controlled New York delighted her, she clutched his arm and whispered, “Please, _please_ , I would love to go back to Mastic. It’s been – well, my siblings and I speak of it the same way the Jews speak of Jerusalem. Next year in Mastic,” she sighed wistfully. “I imagine you long to go back to Long Island?”

“I…have been back,” Ben told her about the raid on “Fort St. George”. That was safe, he hadn’t gone there in plainclothes behind enemy lines to speak with an agent.

 She peppered him with questions about the lay of the land, what had changed. Had he been to this location or that? Did he know about various families?

He answered her as best he could without divulging risky information. If this relationship led to the altar, Ben would tell her about his role as spymaster, but he wouldn’t say anything without a betrothal.

As he walked and she limped to the end of their time together, she still clutched at his arm. Part of that was because he had offered his arm to assist her in walking. (She accepted but told him it was just a cut and her foot was healing just fine.) “Please,” she said again, “Please help us get back.” 

“I will,” he promised and spontaneously leaned down to press his lips against her cheek.

When he returned to Philadelphia, her foot had healed and they were able to take the walk along the Schuylkill.

Thrilled by the news he brought back of the success of his mission, she jumped and then threw her arms around him.

Ben proceeded to fall to the ground, taking her with him. “I’m sorry,” he teased as he rolled off her, “you startled me.”

Mary grabbed a fistful of grass and threw it at him. “You absolute buffoon!”

Ben reciprocated, throwing his own fist’s worth of grass at her. The two launched a turf war, slinging grass, foliage, and flowers at the other, taking turns charging and giving chase until she slipped on the bank of the river and he reached out to grab her. She caught his sleeve but the mud under his feet gave way and they both landed in the river.

After getting out of it, they began to straighten their clothes and he pulled some long grasses from her hair. “That one truly was accidental,” he apologized.

“Same on my part, I had no intention of getting soaked.”

Ben would have offered her his jacket, but it was wet and offered no relief. So he pulled her into his arms to offer her some of his body heat. She tipped her head up, lips parted to say something, but the words didn’t come.

Ben kissed her then.

They walked back to the boardinghouse to amused looks from passerby. Unfortunately, they happened to pass Hamilton and Caleb.

Hamilton spotted them first and his jaw dropped. Then he cackled, “I say, Tallmadge, you seem perpetually in need of rescue from water! Miss Floyd, we are eternally in your debt for rescuing our foolish major.”

Caleb whirled around and Ben held up a hand to stop _whatever_ Caleb speech could summon.

Hamilton slipped out of his jacket and held it out. “Here, miss, you must be chilly. It’s too bad the major is clumsy or else he would have the good manners to offer you some warmth.”

Mary’s cheeks pinked but she accepted the jacket. “Just tell your father it’s mine, he’ll return it to me tomorrow.”

Caleb shrugged out of his jacket, “Here, Tallboy. Can’t have you dying on me, already saved you once. And you’re so close to having someone else box –“

“Thank you, Caleb!” Ben interrupted before Caleb could even finish the euphemism. “I’ll be fine. I’ll escort Miss Floyd to her residence and then change.”

They walked on and behind them, they heard uproarious glee.

 

* * *

 

 

His first time with Sarah was their last and they weren’t married.

His first time with Mary was when they were married and definitely not their last. It also went much slower. 

He suggested she remove her jewelry and take down her hair. She turned away and he saw her shoulders relax. He could relate, he’d been nervous in the pauses too. She took down her hair, putting the pins and clips away. Was that to buy her time or was she just that responsible? Ben lost how many hair ties at Yale by just tossing them aside and having them either get lost or snatched up by Enoch or Nathan. At camp, he’d taken greater care simply because he didn’t have the money to replace them. She removed her earrings and he crossed over to stand behind her. Her shoulders tensed and he reached out to toy with a strand of her hair. 

Mary placed the earrings on the vanity and he gently swept her hair to one side so he could kiss the back of her neck. He heard her shaky intake of breath as he lightly traced a line down her neck with his finger. “Tell me,” he spoke into the shell of her ear and she shivered. “At any point if you wish to stop. I will not take from you what you will not give.” 

“It is your right,” she answered, barely audible. 

“I did not fight a war for the right to your bed, I would never fight a war for that. Rather I would hope you would invite me.”

She turned her head to look at him and quickly kissed him. “I may be afraid, but ‘I belong to my beloved and his desire is for me.’”

“Kindly leave the Bible out of this,” Ben chuckled. “But you are right.” She kissed him more forcefully, longer this time and he returned the kiss. She tried to turn in his arms, but he held her in place, instead caressing down her chest, cupping her breasts over her clothes. Once more she tried to move, but he stopped her, finding one of the ties to her clothes and giving it a small tug. Mary stilled and trusted him to guide her. Laces untied, he let her move so he could take off her gown.

He pulled and then frowned as the gown stayed in place. “You’ve forgotten the pins and the ties,” she giggled.

“Oh.” He didn’t know where either of those were, so he let her remove them. Next she stepped out of the gown petticoat under which she had another petticoat and her stomacher. She unpinned the stomacher and set it aside. Each piece was placed in the laundry basket.

On and on she went, removing layers until she was just in her shift.

Ben had a sudden desire to go back to Yale and argue not in favor of women’s education, but for women’s liberation from their layers.

Mary stopped at her shift and looked at him, her nerves had returned. She licked her lips and brought her hands together in front of her. Again she licked her lips.

Sensing she needed some encouragement, Ben took her hands and led them to his waistcoat buttons. Her hands shook but she undid each one – slowly. It was agonizing and yet he wanted her to be comfortable with him. Finally, it was unbuttoned and he shrugged it off, ready to let it just sit on the floor. Mary took it from him and put it with her clothes in the basket. As her back was turned, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it in the basket just as she added his coat. She jumped and turned around.

At first she looked like she wanted to chastise him for either throwing the shirt or scaring her. But then her eyes focused on the scar on his shoulder. By minute steps, she edged forward and shakily touched the scar tissue. Her nail brushed his skin and she apologized quickly. “Does it hurt?” she asked. 

“No longer – I received it as a parting gift from Robert Rogers after he and his Rangers ambushed us. This was at the beginning of the war.” Her hand lingered near his shoulder and he took it, moved her hand down to the scar on his abdomen. “And this was from a Lieutenant Gamble.”

“You know his name?” she asked, breathless. 

That was probably the wrong thing to say. Most soldiers weren’t likely to know who shot them. And while Mary knew he worked in intelligence, he hadn’t told her about some of the uglier aspects. She didn’t know how Sackett died, she didn’t know about Worthington, what happened with Simcoe –

“It had to do with my intelligence work. He and I had a few encounters.” Mary pulled her hand away and stepped to the side. Worried he’d upset her, he turned in her direction to explain. “It’s –“

“Hold still.”

Startled, Ben did as he was told. Before she had been passive, willing to follow his orders, and now she was giving them?

She stepped behind him and he could feel her gaze on his back. “I don’t see any marks here, aside from this one,” she touched his shoulder. “That’s related to the one on the front, yes?” He confirmed that it was. She walked back around to face him. “Are the rest of your encounters under your breeches?”

“No…” he sighed. “Perhaps I should tell you about my Intelligence work.”

“I think I would like to know.”

Instead of consummating their marriage, they changed into nightclothes, got into bed, and talked. 

In the morning, Ben was reminded of another moment with Sarah. He and Mary were spooning, her back against his chest, his arm over her. And like that morning with Sarah, he was hard. Mary shifted in her sleep. Ben lifted himself up slightly to check that she was still asleep.

She looked so peaceful and so young. They weren’t too far apart, age-wise, but Ben wondered when he last looked that young. War had worn him – worn all his friends. Even Anna looked older, Selah had mentioned. He’d repeated several times that she was still beautiful (probably because Abe looked ready to deck him) but she looked tired, as if she had seen too much. That, Ben knew, was directed at him. Because Ben had brought her into the ring, which forced her to leave Setauket, to come to camp, to live numerous lies – all of this had aged her before her time. Ben agreed, but he also knew that he wouldn’t change involving Anna if he could. And Anna was proud of her service, she wouldn’t have changed it for anything either.

As gently as he could, light as a dragonfly’s wings, Ben brushed a lock of Mary’s hair away from her face. He wanted to kiss her but fretted that it would wake her. Then again, how many times had he gone into a surprise attack on the enemy and succeeded? Fort St George and Stony Point for example. So he went for it and lightly kissed her cheek.

She sighed and rolled over, eyelids fluttering.

Her eyes opened.

Damn it, he’d failed. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Tallmadge,” he whispered.

“Good morning, husband,” she reached down and brushed his erection. Ben gasped and Mary bolted upright. “I! I thought that was your hand!”

“No, not at all, quite different, I assure you.”

Mary covered her mouth with her hand and giggled. “I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Again, she giggled.

“Amused, are you?”

She dropped her hand. “Most diverting inde-“ he cut her off with a kiss, rolling her onto her back. Her hands found their way to his hair, to his back. Her legs spread to let him kneel and he rose up to remove his nightdress. Her eyes took him in, this time in the morning light as opposed to the burning lanterns. He watched as her eyes darkened, not with fear or apprehension, but with desire. She sat up and reached for him. He acquiesced to her unspoken request and kissed her again.

She explored his chest, tracing lines with her fingers, nails ghosting by his nipples. He grunted his approval wherever she found a pleasurable spot.

He pulled away and tugged her nightdress. She lifted her hips to let him slide it up her body, then she sat up and let him completely undress her.

He hadn’t gotten this far last night, but it was worth the wait. The sun’s early rays illuminated her for his full perusal. He kissed her, hard but quick. Then he kissed his way down her neck, listening to her breath as it sped up. Caressing her stomach, he trailed his kisses down to her breasts. Upon reaching them, she held her breath.  He paused and looked up at her, but her eyes were closed. “Hey,” he reached up to brush his thumb across her cheek. “You all right?”

She nodded but didn’t open her eyes. 

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“No,” she whispered. “I just…I’m embarrassed.” 

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I just am.”

That made sense to Ben. He’d been embarrassed too, especially as his wound had forced him to confess to Sarah that she would need to be on top. He’d thought she would end things then. She’d saved his life, the very least he could do was fulfill his role. But evidently it didn’t matter to her and they’d continued.

“Ok, just…let me know if you don’t like something or you’re hurt.”

She nodded and he toyed with her for a bit longer. 

When he moved his attentions to between her legs, she tried to close them. Only problem was that he was already there and so her legs just tightened around his hips. Ben slid down so he could kiss the inside of her thighs. Mary moaned. Ben couldn’t spend as much time as he wanted just looking and touching, he wouldn’t last that long. So he lined himself up and looked at her face.

She felt the head of his cock at her entrance and her eyes opened. Immediately catching his gaze, she blushed all the way down to her chest. Previously, daydreaming (or fantasizing, since he thought about it most often when he was in bed) about their wedding night, he’d planned to look into her eyes as he took her. But given that blush…

Ben leaned down and kissed her as he pushed himself inside.

Mary gasped, breaking the kiss. A whimper followed the gasp and Ben stilled. “Are you all right?” he asked again.

“Give…give me a minute,” she whispered. “It…it hurt at first but now it’s just…it doesn’t hurt, it’s just a peculiar feeling.”

After a minute or so, she indicated he could continue.

It took a while, trial and error, but soon enough, her hips rose to meet his thrusts.

 

* * *

 

 

Arriving home in the rain, Ben led his horse inside the bar. He tossed his wet hat and coat over the side of the stall and went to work getting the horse comfortable. He filled the trough with oats and hay. While the horse ate, Ben would brush him down.

The door to the barn creaked open and Ben looked over to see Mary walk in with a lantern and what looked like a bottle. She approached the stall and Ben sighed, “You shouldn’t be out here in this weather – in your condition.” He cast a pointed look to her belly.

Mary stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “I missed you too,” she ignored his comment. “Here, I’ll brush him,” she set the lantern aside and held out the bottle. Ben traded her for the brush. The bottle was warm and he lifted it to his nose to sniff. Coffee. “How was Hartford?” she asked, smoothing the brush over the horse’s shoulder. 

“Tiring, I’ll tell you about it later. Go inside, I’ll take care of this. You don’t need to catch a cold. And hurry, don’t get wet.”

Mary picked up the lantern after he took the brush back. She gave him a wicked smile, “Judging by my current condition, I’d say you like me wet.”

Ben laughed and the horse paused in his eating to look at Ben as if to ask what was so funny.

He thought of when he’d met Sarah, it had been raining.  

He liked this reception best.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look, canon-compliant Ben/Mary from me, what the fuck, I know. 
> 
> Kitty Floyd dated (and was engaged) to James Madison. She broke it off, he was heartbroken. He like crossed out/destroyed a lot of references to her in his journals and he'd coded his journals anyway. 
> 
> The ankle thing was meant to be funny, because in a lot of romance novels that don't involve sex, they often heavily feature some nonsexualized body part being seen as borderline risque. 
> 
> The Bible reference is Song of Songs, which is hella sensual. Basically no one talks about it today, lol, but you can bet a bunch of horny high school students (and let's be honest, that's what college back then was - high school), most of whom were expected to go into ministry read that book of the Bible without it being an assignment.


End file.
